


life sized ghosts

by longhairandbarefeet



Series: roots and lies [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Guilt, Internal Conflict, Post S7, Secrets, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 19:44:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11790147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longhairandbarefeet/pseuds/longhairandbarefeet
Summary: Jon can tell that Sansa knows something. It’s in the way she approaches him in the courtyard, her hands are folded in front of her as she stands apart from everyone else, crowds of people welcoming their King home, but she doesn't move. She doesn’t run into his arms, doesn’t smile or cry; she schools every emotion like it’s the only armor she wears.a.k.a.Jon returns home with guilt, and a secret. (post s7)





	life sized ghosts

Jon can tell that Sansa knows something. It’s in the way she approaches him in the courtyard, her hands are folded in front of her as she stands apart from everyone else, crowds of people welcoming their King home, but she doesn't move. She doesn’t run into his arms, doesn’t smile or cry; she schools every emotion like it’s the only armor she wears. 

 

He doesn’t care. He hugs Bran, embraces Arya, but when he gets close enough to Sansa, to smell the sweet scent of her perfumes, he pulls her to him and clings tightly. He holds her like she were lost to him all over again, but there are battles to fight, blood to shed, and a war to win. 

 

Jon doesn’t have time to hold onto his sister. 

 

“We are having a feast for your return, and I must oversee the rest of the preparations.” Sansa says pulling away, resting her hands in the furs of his coat and tracing patterns. She’s breathless as she exhales, and he notices because he can see it in the air. 

 

It’s so cold here, and he’s missed it. 

 

+

 

“She’s more beautiful than I remember,” Tyrion says after some time, goblet of wine clasped in his fingers, and his lips are stained red. They are sitting in the Great Hall, and Sansa glides across the room like a true hostess, making sure to be cordial to everyone who welcomed the King in the North home. It’s after dinner, and she’s not sat down once, but her pleased expression lets him know that she’s enjoying it. “She seems happier.”

 

Sansa’s laughing at something Brienne must’ve said when Tyrion makes the observation, her head is thrown back and her hair dances in a cascade across her back. It’s truly a lovely thing. 

 

“Aye,” Jon replies, sipping his ale with gentle nod. 

 

“Does she know about you and the equally as beautiful Targaryen Queen?” Tyrion asks with a shit-eating grin, wine getting to his head, and Jon closes his eyes tightly. He wishes the tankard he clutches within his hands, tightly and pressured, was Tyrion’s tiny neck. 

 

Jon also wishes he could forget about it, that brief moment of weakness on the ship with Dany. He remembers it like it’s only just happened even though it was a fortnight ago. 

 

It started with a kiss, a sloppy, feverish pressing of the mouths that promised dragons and an army. 

 

It ended in a tangle of limbs, a layer of sweat coming off of their bodies, and a final moan escaping her mouth letting him know she had reached her peak. 

 

“You truly are a little shit, you know that?” Jon says clenching his jaw tightly, forcing a groan from his lips as he finishes the last of his ale. 

 

Tyrion doesn’t reply to him right away, he simply crooks his brows, and looks at him like he’s trying to piece together a very disinteresting puzzle, but he can’t seem to figure it out quite yet. 

 

(Jon being the very disinteresting puzzle.) 

 

Jon’s eyes leave the conversation, scanning over the crowd to find Sansa once again. It doesn’t take him long for his ears to hear the sound of her giggling, the same giggle as when she were a little girl. She’s sitting beside Arya, Arya whispering in her ear as they sat close to one another. Whatever she’s saying to her, Sansa can’t contain her laughter because her hand is covering her mouth to muffle the sound.

 

“You may be a bastard,” Tyrion says, distracting Jon from the moment he was witnessing between his two sisters. Jon whips his head quickly to look at him and glare; angry he interrupted him. “but at least you are a transparent bastard.” Tyrion shrugs his shoulders, and Jon looks blankly at him as he stumbles drunk to his chambers, humming a love song about forbidden lovers that one of the singers sung earlier in the evening.

 

+

 

Jon kneels alone under the Heart Tree with his eyes closed. His mouth is speaking words that no one but him and the wind can hear. He came here to see if it would help guide him the way it had when he was small, but coming here only makes him feel more lost. 

 

“What are you praying for?” 

 

He didn’t hear her coming, the fresh blanket of snow must’ve muffled the sound of her boots, but when he looks up, he sees her. Her mouth is pursed as she waits for his answer. 

 

Sansa is so beautiful. It’s an observation anyone with eyes could make, but when she stands like this in front of him, snow catching in the strands of her red hair, he feels his breath hitch. 

 

“I don’t really pray anymore...” Jon says a few moments later as she lays her fur on the snow so she can sit down beside him, a shiver escaping her lips. “I mainly talk to father, ask him for guidance.” 

 

“Does he talk back?” Sansa asks as she looks at him intently, curiosity in her voice. 

 

He wonders briefly if she can see it, if the night of his tryst with the Dragon Queen is playing over and over across his pupils like a bad memory, but she doesn’t say anything to him when she looks away from him, the blue hue of her eyes not revealing anything she’s thinking. 

 

He shakes his head in response. 

 

+

 

“I need to tell you something, may I come in?” Jon says with the words tumbling out of his mouth. He is standing outside of Sansa’s door with a hand over his chest and his breathing is labored. He ran from his chambers to tell her the truth, unable to sleep with the black and red cloud looming over top their heads. 

 

She steps aside as her form of an answer, and he rushes inside. Jon waits until the door is shut before he turns to look at her. 

 

“Was this so urgent that you couldn’t wait until the morning?” Sansa asks with her arms crossed over her chest.

 

He can see that she’s getting ready for bed. Her hair is wet from her bath, and braided neatly down her back. Her blankets are turned back, and he knows she was probably just about to crawl in. 

 

“I need you to know something Sansa, something important and- - you see- - well you see- -” Jon stammers with his hand loose over his mouth, and a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. He feels like a goddamn fool. “You must understand that my intentions were never to hurt you, I always wanted to protect you- -” 

 

“I already know about you and your Dragon lover, Jon.” Sansa replies as she presses her pointer finger to his lips to quiet him. 

 

“What?” Jon replies, confusion evident in his tone as his voice cracks. He doesn’t know many things, but he does know Tyrion wouldn’t be stupid enough to say anything to her. “How did you- -?”

 

“Does it really matter?” Sansa replies quickly, sitting on the edge of her bed. He notices now that she’s wearing a night shift with the thinnest material, and Jon swallows hard. It’s barely enough to cover the curves she has underneath it, and when the candlelight hits her just right, he can see everything. 

 

“No,” Jon replies. “I guess not.” 

 

“You are the King in the North, and a man with desires,” Sansa replies coolly, turning to look at him with her teeth chewing through her bottom lip. “And I’ve heard how alluring she is. It only makes sense you’d be with her.” 

 

“You’re not angry?” Jon says hesitantly. He already knows the answer; he knows she’s mastered the art of pretend so anything out of her mouth wouldn’t sound like the truth. 

 

“I’m tired, is what I am.” Sansa replies, feigning a yawn. She stands up, hurries across the floor, and opens her door for him. “I must retire for the evening.” 

 

“Okay,” Jon says, and he takes slow steps until he’s completely left the safety and warmth of her chambers. “Sleep well and sweet dreams, Sansa.” Jon turns to whisper, but instead of saying it to her, he says it to the door she’s closed in his face. 

 

+

 

“Jon.” 

 

“What are you doing up so late, Bran?”

 

“I must speak with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! unbeta'd so any mistake was my own! I hope to have the next part up soon, and hopefully it will have a far more satisfying conclusion! :)
> 
> comments/kudos, seriously appreciated! I love every single one!


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